


The Brain—is wider than the Sky

by middlemarch



Category: Poldark (TV 2015)
Genre: Dreams, F/M, Marriage, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-11
Updated: 2016-10-11
Packaged: 2018-08-21 22:19:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8262400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/middlemarch/pseuds/middlemarch
Summary: Something has changed for Ross.





	

Ross knew this dream. He’d had it for years, running through the meadow after her, her curls loose and bright in the summer sun, her laughter blithe as the pale orange butterflies they disturbed with their chase. He knew how it ended-- her ready surrender, her red lips parted for his kiss, his name in her voice and then the transposition to the bedchamber, moon for sun, linen for grass, but still her fresh, sweet face looking up at him, her arms pulling him into an embrace of the truest, deepest love. He’d had the dream before he set sail with his regiment and in the dark, colonial wilderness and nearly every night since he came back to Nampara. But when he woke now, he realized how slight she had been beneath him, how ruddy the hair streaming behind her, her voice lower, the accent uncultured. Where had Elizabeth gone? Who did he seek now? His wife lay beside him, her face turned away. He married her for lust and its proper management, a less admirable reason than he’d hired her for, but he’d not imagined he could ever feel much else for her and even that would likely fade. It seemed he was wrong. Ross was a Poldark of Cornwall and he knew enough to take a dream seriously, no matter what the minister would say, and this one held a message he could not, would not overlook. He brushed back the unplaited hair from Demelza’s shoulders and she shifted, rolled towards him and he drew her to him, allowing himself the tenderness he’d felt in the dream. He wondered what her expression would hold if she woke now, as he had, and found them thus without any carnal excuse for his closeness, the reverie’s memory in his gaze. She was soft and warm against him and he fell asleep before he could imagine more than the light in her blue eyes, a disbelief he wished very much to take away, a great gladness like a calm sea the Lord himself laid down in its place.

**Author's Note:**

> Here's a little ficlet about the way Ross processes his change in affection via his dreaming life. The title is from Emily Dickinson.


End file.
